


Blood Of The Covenant

by DetectiveIdiotBoy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Dismemberment, Electrocution, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Nick has a Bad Time, Racism, Spoilers for Covenant Quest Line, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveIdiotBoy/pseuds/DetectiveIdiotBoy
Summary: Old Man Stockton's daughter has gone missing. When other methods to find her fail, Stockton turns to the one man in the Commonwealth who can solve any cold case: Detective Nick Valentine. But what happens when the detective ends up as the missing person - again. Time for Nora to perform the same miracle twice and track down her friend before he ends up a casualty of the Commonwealth's most dangerous synth-murdering cult. At least this time, she has a few more friends in low places to help her out...
Relationships: (background), Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day! 
> 
> Since I guess it's just now my tradition to post new works on holidays, please enjoy the very first fic I wrote in this fandom. It's not particularly romantic, but it _is_ Valentine-centric, so I'll pretend that's close enough. <3
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy the fic!

It was somewhere around 4:30 am that the Valentine Detective Agency received a short knock on the front door. Nick rarely received visitors at this hour - or any hour, these days. The paranoia in Diamond City had really been dialing up in the last few months, thanks in part to Piper’s expert journalism. It wasn’t that Nick would be surprised to find out the mayor of Diamond City was actually an institute spy - if anything it would answer a lot more questions than it raised - but Piper’s recent tell-all “exposing” the mayor as a synth had stirred up a lot of resentment that Nick had been narrowly dodging for years. Given half the chance Myrna would have a lynch mob at his door any day of the week, so it made Nick feel a little less like a paranoid ol’ bot when he checked his holster for his gun before opening the door. 

The man standing outside was soaked, hands fidgeting at the cuffs of a well-tailored suit. The neon light of the office sign illuminated puddles, but no rain. The man came from outside the city, Nick thought. Not many people would take the trouble to trek through old Boston in the middle of the night just for a social call. Whatever he was here for, it was either important enough for this man to risk being ripped apart by super mutants, or he damn well felt like it was. 

“Ah- mh… Detective Valentine, I presume?” He said. The man couldn’t seem to decide whether or not it was rude to stare, which just left him flicking his eyes between the patches of missing synthetic skin on Nick’s neck and the faded wall behind him. 

“In the flesh,” Nick said, pulling up the corners of his mouth into what he hoped was a disarming smile. Even if people were warned about Nick’s synthetic nature, he knew they could get a little jumpy when they got their first look at him. The last thing he wanted was security turning the corner only to find him wrestling a weapon out of a scared potential client’s hands. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “What can I do you for ?” 

“I… ahm, I have a case that I had hoped you might be willing to take,” He said. The man awkwardly ran his fingers through patches of wet gray hair that stuck out from under his hat. Taking in his whole appearance, Nick presumed he was in his late 60s, though he seemed in perfect health. For someone to make it that long out in the wastelands without a missing tooth or limb, Nick’s potential client would have to be either insanely lucky or wealthy - and considering the man was standing outside his door in a soaked suit and tie inquiring about hiring a detective, Nick was willing to bet on the latter. 

A part of his brain lit up, reminding him of the rent due date coming up next week, which was exactly one day after his payment extension for last month’s rent was set to expire. His last case had been lengthy - and pro bono on account of the client rescuing him from a certain old frenemy-turned-mobster in a vault - and while good-natured-charity-cases were good for the soul, Diamond City did not accept good karma as a form of currency. 

That - and the thrill of a brand new case - in mind, Nick stepped to the side, holding out an arm to usher the unlucky bastard inside. “Why don’t you come on in? No use standing outside discussing details in the middle of a rad storm.”

The man gave an embarrassed chuckle as he scooted himself through the door beside the detective. Even with the hat, he only came up to just above Nick’s chin, and upon further inspection he was slightly stooped over a rounded stomach, adding evidence to Nick’s speculation about his age and class status. While shutting the door, Nick brought up a list of all known people in the Commonwealth matching the description in his mind. It didn’t take too long for his mechanical brain to parse, partly because it was a shortlist. Could be one of the Cabots, but Nick had his money on Stockton. He was the one with the closest matching description, as well as a good motive to be here, since he ran the largest trading network for a hundred miles. The real question was why would he come to Nick? Surely a man like him had access to mercs and trained bounty hunters to track down missing caravans and stolen goods, and considering he had taken the trouble to come all the way to Diamond City seemingly unaccompanied in the middle of the night… well…

Nick had a feeling this case was going to turn out to be real interesting. 

“I do apologize for coming in at such an hour,” The presumed Mr. Stockton said, sitting in the chair Nick guided him to. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all,” Nick replied. “I tend to keep late hours, it’s easy to do that when sleep is optional.” 

Stockton gave another nervous chuckle as Nick sat down at the desk across from him. “I suppose that would be true,” He said. Nick had hoped the man would be the type to keep a conversation going, but just his luck, Stockton didn’t say another word. Instead, he went right back to fidgeting with his hands and finding a nice spot on the wall to stare at. Perfect. Back to square one. 

Just as the detective opened his mouth to gently coax Stockton to the point of his early morning stroll into Nick’s low-rent detective agency, Stockton met his eyes and spoke. 

“Ah, this may seem odd, but… you wouldn’t happen to have a  _ Geiger counter _ , would you?”

Well, to Stockton’s credit, he was right - that  _ did  _ seem like a strange question. At least Nick could cross ‘liar’ off from potential risks from his new client. Was the man really that worried about soaking up a few rads from the storm? It didn’t feel that way. Something about the way Stockton stressed the words ‘Geiger counter’ felt… off. Nick made a note to ask Ellie to add that to the case file later. He wondered for just a moment if he should wake her up for the interview.

“Uh, yeah, actually, I do,” Nick answered the question with an awkward nod. He gave his temple a short tap with his good hand. “One of the many bells the institute left me with before giving me the boot.”

Stockton’s expression was hard to read, but Nick had a gut feeling he was disappointed by the response. Strange. Very Strange. “I see,” The man muttered, seemingly to himself. “Of course I wouldn’t have that sort of luck.”

“Very few people who come into this office do,” Nick agreed. Stockton jerked slightly, as if only just now realizing he had spoken out loud. Thankfully he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and folding his hands in his lap in something of a more professional posture. 

“I apologize again, I am a bit out of sorts,” He handwaved his earlier remark, and Nick accepted it. If it was important to the case hopefully he would share whatever detail he was hiding later. “I suppose I should introduce myself; My name is Stockton of the Bunker Hill Caravan Company.” 

“A pleasure to finally put a face to the name,” Nick smiled. So he had been right about the identity; he hoped the case would go over just as smoothly. 

“Likewise,” Stockton said. “I’ve heard a lot about your work, Detective. It seems you have quite the reputation of solving cases that others fail to.” Well, it wasn’t quite the stunning line of advertisement you’d see on billboards before the war, but damn if Nick wasn’t at least a little glad to hear his name put behind a few positive adjectives for once. Living in the heart of the second most synth hating settlement in the Commonwealth sometimes took a toll on his self-esteem. 

“Well I appreciate the compliment,” Nick said. “I suppose you came here with a specific case in mind, or is the Caravan looking to hire a ride-along private eye?” 

The lighthearted banter came to a close there as Stockton’s expression hardened into a firm frown. “It’s my daughter,” He said, fingers once again taking up their job of fidgeting in his lap. “She’s gone missing. She was traveling a caravan north of Memorial Bridge that never made it back to Bunker Hill.”

“I see,” Nick said, already reaching for a pen. Ah, so a missing daughter then? Tale as old as time, though this one had a few more twists than the average runaway case. Immediately Nick suspected ransom; some group of raiders targeting a high profile person and kidnapping them to hold over the heads of rich and worried family members was a typical Wednesday in the Commonwealth these days. “What can you tell me about the caravan she was with?”

“It was just a regular delivery,” Stockton said. “Amelia and the men were traveling to one of those new Minutemen settlements that have been showing up as of late; the general has made those routes much safer, so I didn’t see the harm in it.” 

“Of course,” Nick nodded, noting the defensive guilt in the man’s tone. He never judged a client (at least not before a case was solved) but he had no intention of letting Stockton think Nick believed him a negligent parent. “How many days has the caravan been missing.”

“A week and a half,” He said. “I hired one of our head caravan guards to go investigate, but he hasn’t returned. The last courier he sent told us that he had found the bodies of the other members of the caravan, but not my daughter.” 

“Have you sent anyone out to look for him?” Nick asked.

“No,” Stockton said. “But the courier said that Honest Dan wasn’t at their agreed-upon meeting place and when he asked local settlers about it, they claimed he had disappeared days before.”

“Is it possible that he decided to take your caps and skip town? Possibly with your daughter in tow?” Nick asked. Even he knew it was unlikely, but he had to investigate all avenues. Sometimes the most confounding cases had simple solutions.

Stockton shook his head. “No, No… I know him too well. His name speaks for itself, he's an honest man.” His lips drew into a line for a moment before he spoke again. “I am afraid something might have happened to him as well.”

“It’s too soon to say that,” Nick replied, thinking for a moment. So there had already been someone out to investigate the scene, and it was looking like he might’ve gotten himself iced as well. Pinning that for later, Nick decided to ask the obvious question. “Have you gotten any sort of sign that your daughter has been kidnapped? A ransom note, a message…?”

Stockton shook his head. “Nothing like that. Nothing at all.” Behind his firm, business-ready eyes, Nick saw a deep sadness in him. It was a common look these days - the look of someone who had lost so much he had been sure there was nothing left for the world to take from him, and then it did just that. “Please. I know there isn’t much to go on, and it’s been a long time since she’s gone missing, I should have come here sooner,” He berated himself in a calm tone that tugged at the wires where Nick felt his heart should be. “If you can find anything at all, I will pay any price. Amelia- she… she’s all I have left.”

Nick took a reflexive breath; an imprint from a man 200 years dead that was entirely unnecessary for the present-day Nick. “Mr. Stockton-” Nick began, pausing when the man gave a short chuckle. 

“Please, no one calls me that,” He said. “These days it’s just Old Man Stockton.”

Nick smiled, the man was finally relaxing a little around. “Alright, Old Man Stockton, I tell you what,” He said. “There’s an inn just around the corner with plenty of vacancies. I can’t guarantee it will be quite up to your standards, but if you come back in the morning when my secretary is up we can work out a price and jot down any extra details you come up with between now and then.”

The exhaustion in the old man’s eyes was starting to make Nick feel sleepy, which is pretty damn inconvenient when you're physiologically incapable of taking a nap. It seemed those bags under his eyes weren't just for looks either; with just the suggestion of a rest the man sunk down into the chair with a sigh. Relief painted his features.

“I can’t thank you enough, Detective,” He said. “You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear that.”

“It’s all part of the job,” Nick said, pushing aside his scribbled notes for the morning. “Need me to walk you over?”

“No, I’m fine to walk on my own…” Stockton leaned forward to stand, then paused. “Ah, Mr. Valentine, you wouldn’t happen to investigate the scenes personally. I was informed that you had a… partner, of sorts?” 

Nick raised a brow at that. “No. Marty doesn’t work here anymore. We buried him last week.”

“Oh,” Stockton said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“It’s fine, he’d been dead for months.”

The silence between them stretched on - Valentine at his desk and Stockton somewhere between sitting and standing over the chair. Nick waited for the old man to explain the bizarre question, and was just about to write it off as another one of the things the man said that Nick wasn’t meant to understand when Stockton finally decided to elaborate. 

“You see, there is… one issue I failed to mention,” Stockton said, sitting back down. Ah, here it is. There’s always a catch with these cases, isn’t there? Nick leaned in slightly to hear what undoubtedly pleasant surprise this case had waiting for him. “You recall the man I mentioned who went missing, Honest Dan?” 

“Go on…” Nick said.

“Well, you see… just before I lost contact with him, and right after he found the caravan, he was investigating one settlement in particular, he seemed pretty certain that they were somehow involved with the incident.”

“And which settlement is that?” Nick said, sensors going off in his head warning him that he wasn’t going to like the answer. 

Confirming all suspicions, Stockton answered solemnly, “Covenant.”

“Oh,” Nick said. His expression must have said he didn’t need any explanation because Stockton just nodded. 

“Quite…” The old man returned. 

_ Well shit. _


	2. Chapter 2

If Diamond City was the second most synth-hating settlement in the Commonwealth, then Covenant had it beat by a large margin. Paranoia and racism aside, at least the Diamond City guards didn’t make people take a damn test at the gate to prove they were human. Covenant was known as being something of an ‘exclusive club’ for only the most suspicious, synth-fearing people. The town had strict rules about who could enter and who could take up residence, number one being ‘no synths allowed’. Rumor has it that most of the citizens there had lost loved ones to the Institute, poor bastards. Nick felt for them, honestly. Even though  _ he _ had never actually lost anyone so dear to him, he knew exactly what it felt like. The feeling of waking up and knowing that the world is short one person, the haze of going about your daily routine where nothing is different and yet everything is. Those memories weren’t his, the person in them died almost a hundred and fifty years before he was created, but he felt them as clearly as he did his own. So, somewhere in him, he understood why these people would want to wall themselves off from the rest of a world that gave so little of a damn about their personal happiness. 

Still didn’t excuse putting about fifty armed turrets on the top of those walls and aiming them at every poor sap who walked by. 

If walking into Vault 114 had been foolish, this was a damn suicide mission - and yet here he was. Nick Valentine, generation two-point-five synth detective, walking up through the heart of Covenant. 

Nick thought he was going to give Ellie a stroke when he told her where this next case would take him.  _ “Nick Valentine, I just got you back from the river of Styx, and we can’t afford to keep hiring mercs to fish you out when you get yourself in too deep.” _ Ellie had even tried to convince him to let her go instead, but like hell he was going to let the only person he could call a friend in this world walk into the middle of a quadruple homicide case without him there to protect her. He didn’t know if she even knew how to fire a gun, if he was honest. He was going to be the death of that woman, but Stockton was offering caps upfront. A  _ lot _ of caps. Being legally dead for two weeks had left Nick with a backlog of bills that made for a rude awakening when he made it back home. He couldn’t afford to turn this case down. 

And besides that, this is what he did. Nick Valentine was a  _ detective  _ \- he will follow the case wherever it takes him. Even if it takes him right into the center of a bunch of nasty looks and death glares. 

Nick had honestly expected to be stopped at the gates, if not shot on sight, but the town’s reputation for friendliness did not disappoint. All he had to do was explain to the man out front that he had been hired to look into the disappearance of a young woman and he had rushed inside to get permission from the mayor. Jacob Orden greeted at the gate with a strained smile that looked more plastic than Nick’s. 

“You are called Nick Valentine, correct?” He had said, voice far too friendly to be trusted. “Swanson tells me you belong to Mr. Stockton.” 

And that was Nick’s first clue that this case was going to give him short in his circuits. 

“Stockton hired me,” Nick corrected subtly. “His daughter went missing in the area and he wanted me to ask around the town to see if anyone had seen her.”

“Yes, of course,” Jacob said, smile never faltering. A part of Nick honestly wondered if the man was actually a synth himself - no human should be able to smile for that long without a single twitch of genuine emotion. “You can assure Mr. Stockton that his previous… employee… performed a thorough examination of our humble town. No one has seen Ms. Amelia nor anyone else in his caravan.”

“I see,” Nick said. “Do you mind if I take a look around anyways? I just want to make sure I can give Ol’ Stockton a full report to ease his suspicions.” Nick could play this game; there was a girl's life at stake, after all (allegedly. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that “Honest” Dan and the girl hadn’t gone off and eloped with her father’s money) If he had to play the part of Rich Man’s pet synth he could swallow his pride for that. 

There had been some deliberating amongst the higher-ups in the town, but in the end, it was decided that as long as he was escorted, Nick could tour the town and conduct a few interviews. 

If Nick had any nerves in his body, he would call the experience nerve-wracking - and he didn’t think the feeling was solely because of his metal parts (though that was the majority of it). The people were, predictably, terrified and enraged by his presence, but he was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was the seemingly endless smiles masking over that terror. There must have been some kind of law against frowning in the town because not a single person dropped their stress-tested facade of kindness and glee. Nick had heard the people of Covenant described as cult-like but this was just a bit more than he was expecting. One woman looked at him from the door of her shop, and he detected something that almost looked like a flatline frown on her face. Their eyes met and he tipped his hat respectfully. Her face didn't falter again.

Jacob Orden noticed the crowd of settlers eying them, and raised his hands. “Now, now, friends. We have a special visitor today - Old Man Stockton has sent his robot here to ask a few questions about our town. Please answer its queries as honestly as possible so that it can return to our friend and give him what he wants.”

_ Charming _ , Nick thought but he managed to keep  the grimace off his face. The distinct lack of sticks and stones being hurled at him meant he could tolerate a few prejudiced words. Honestly, this was the best-case scenario when he set out this morning to walk into Covenant. The people all seemed to accept that quickly; a little too quickly for Nick’s liking. It was as if they had been expecting him.

With the supposed mayor of the town flanking him on one side and the gate guard on the other, Nick was allowed to walk around the town and conduct his interviews.

“Did you see a young woman come through here with a caravan?”

“No, nothing like that. There hasn’t been a caravan here in weeks.”

“Was there any suspicious noises outside the wall two weeks ago?”

“Not at all. Not even the caravans have been coming through. They haven’t been here in weeks.”

“Has the town gotten any visitors who seemed odd recently?”

“No, no. The caravans stopped coming, so there hasn’t been anyone here in weeks.”

“What about Honest Dan? My associate was here just a few days ago, wasn’t he?”

“O-oh... him… I… He wasn’t with a caravan… so I suppose he came through here…”

After only eight interviews, Nick understood exactly why Dan had said the town was suspicious. In total, Nick counted twelve times he heard the phrase “in weeks” and fifteen times that the lack of caravans had been mentioned without prompting. These people had been coached on their answers beforehand. Nick couldn’t jump to conclusions, but it was pretty damning. At the very least, they knew something about the attack that they weren’t letting on, but it felt deeper than that. 

While he moved between the settlers to ask his questions, Nick kept his senses on high alert to take in as much of the town as possible. He wasn’t going to push his luck and ask to search people’s homes, but he could adjust his optical sensors to see out of his peripherals to look through their windows without being noticed. It was a dirty trick he rarely used - he hated feeling like a peep - but these people were far from clean themselves. Most of the houses he passed were painfully normal, if not a little out of place in the wasteland. They were filled with items and decorations that Nick only recognized from his pre-war memories. Every so often though he picked up on something odd. Two houses had terminals, one of which had its password written out on a piece of paper taped to the desk. A locked terminal… could just be someone’s diary, but this town didn’t seem like the type to permit secrets amongst residents. What were they hiding? 

There was also a handful of cigar butts tucked away in the perfectly manicured lawns behind picket fences. That alone wouldn’t be worth remembering, but it was the distinct lack of litter and tobacco smell on any of the residents that made Nick's hard drive spin. The grass had been cut, so there was no way to know how long they had been there, but they were old. He would have to ask Stockton if Dan smoked, otherwise according to the residents there was absolutely no one who could have left that there. 

“I believe you have collected enough data to satisfy your orders?” Jacob said. That damn smile was starting to grate on Nick’s last nerve, especially when it was paired with words like those. 

“I think I’m good on interviews,” Nick said, keeping his tone neutral with the effort of a classically trained actor. “I was wondering if you knew where the bodies were found; I’d like to examine them if they’re still there.”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m afraid we had them buried after they were found. Corpses tend to attract bloodbugs, and it would be disrespectful to leave them out on the road in the state they were in.”

“Right,” Nick said. “Still, do you mind showing me where they were found? There might be some clues there.” 

“Sure, Swanson can escort you there. Then I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to be on your way. We have already bent the rules to allow you here for the sake of Mr. Stockton’s peace of mind. Do send him our regards and deepest sympathies about his daughter. If we see anything we will be sure to send word to him right away.”

“Of course,” Nick said, voice flat. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.”

Nick followed the gate guard out of the town walls. Admittedly, Nick was glad to put the creepy stares of the townsfolk behind him, though he wasn’t thrilled to be back in the firing range of the mounted turrets. 

“This is where we found them, poor guys,” Swanson said, leading Nick to a dip in the road. “The bodies we found are buried off to the side of the road there, but we had to dump the brahmin in the lake.”

“I see,” Nick said. He stepped forward to examine the road. The blood that had undoubtedly been there was long gone, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any evidence left to be found. “Who was it who found the bodies, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“That was the other guy, Dan,” Swanson said, grimacing at the thought. “He dragged me out here after he found them; It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“I can imagine,” Nick said. He got the feeling that Swanson wasn’t exactly like the other people of Covenant; he wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing. At the very least, it seemed like he was a bit more honest. “Could you tell how they died?”

“What do you mean?” Swanson crossed his arms. His eyes kept glancing back at the gate - it was clear he wanted to be done with this investigation as much as Nick did. 

“Were they shot? Or did someone come at them with a knife?” Nick elaborated. 

“I don’t know what kinda guy could take down two pack brahmin and three guards with a knife,” Swanson sneered. “Looks like they were shot up to me.” 

“Did the wounds look like they came from laser guns or traditional bullets?”

“I don’t know!” Swanson said shortly. “You’re the one dressed like a detective.”

Nick could tell he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from Swanson either, but it didn’t matter. He was already kneeling to scan over the ground with his eyes. No scorch marks, no bullets left, and it was highly unlikely someone attacked them out of the blue with only a knife or their bare hands. It was suspicious to say the least, but inconclusive. Stray bullets could have been removed with the bodies or washed away by a storm.

Just as he was finishing up his scan, something caught his eye. A pack of cigars, same brand as the ones in the Covenant lawns, hiding almost imperceptibly against the petrified stump of a nuked tree. 

“Look, if you ask me, I think they were robbed,” Swanson said. Nick definitely didn’t ask him, but he listened anyways, just in case the guard accidentally said something useful. “All the stuff was gone when I found ‘em, and it looked like there was a struggle. That’s it.” 

“I see,” Nick said, rising to his feet. “I appreciate your time.” 

Swanson made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum in response. “You’re leaving now, right?”

“Yeah, I think I'll take off,” Nick said. “Thanks again for your cooperation.” 

Swanson followed Nick up to the gate where they parted ways, Nick along the road headed south and Swanson back to his post outside the gate. Nick didn’t have far to go, but his processors were working overtime to take in everything he had just learned. There was little doubt left that the people of Covenant were involved with the attack, and their efforts to hide that fact were shotty enough that even an untrained wastelander was able to pick up on it. 

The real question left was whether the town had attacked the caravan themselves or hired someone else to do it, and why. What did they have to gain from stealing from Stockton’s caravan? The town had a pretty good relationship with Bunker hill, and they didn’t seem to be hurting for caps. The merchandise list Stockton gave Nick hadn’t had anything particularly interesting in it. Some old-world food, utensils, dress clothes… nothing worth the trouble of taking on three guards and two caravan leaders. 

And, of course, there was the question of Stockton’s daughter. Was she even still alive? If mercs had been the ones to attack the caravan, they could have taken her as part of their “payment.” Unfortunately, with almost 10 days between Nick and the attack, it would be nearly impossible to track down the perps, which made extracting a confession from Covenant the most sound solution to the problem. Nick had his doubts that he would be allowed within a hundred-foot radius of Covenant again anytime soon, not that he was particularly eager to set foot in that freak show again any time soon. 

Besides that, something about that scenario still felt off to Nick. Why hire someone to attack the caravan? What did Covenant have to gain from that? Maybe they weren’t the ones who hired the thugs, maybe they had gotten caught up in someone else’s plans.

Or maybe there hadn’t been a third party at all. 

Nick needed more information, dammit. For every benefit he had being a synth, there always seemed to be a dozen kicks to the teeth to even it out. He would need someone else to go into Covenant for him, probably undercover. Despite himself, Nora was the first person to come to mind. He hadn’t known her more than a couple of months, but he could tell she had all the makings of a good sleuth. And, unlike his last partner, he trusted her. Nick couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to help him, and even if she had done it in part because Nick had dirt on the man who had snatched her kid, he couldn’t help feeling grateful.

He had no idea where she was at the moment. Last Nick heard she had been headed to the Prydwen to speak with Maxson; apparently she had gotten the Brotherhood's attention and done a few good turns by them. Having only just survived walking out of Covenant, Nick wasn’t exactly in any hurry to stroll into the sights of any more hostile factions. Even if he did take the risk, Nora was always on the move. General of the Minutemen was apparently more than just an impressive title; between searching for clues to find her missing son, she was almost always running between settlements to lend a helping hand. Finding her would take time, and if Amelia really was still alive it might be time she didn’t have…

So with that, Nick did the only thing he could do, and headed down south to give his report. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to split up this chapter somewhere in the middle so it didn't end up being too long, so sorry if that ending seemed a bit abrupt! I hope you all enjoyed <3


	3. Chapter 3

Nick hadn’t reached any conclusions by the time he was at the rendezvous. Tucker Memorial Bridge had been cleaned up by the Minutemen pretty soon after their miraculous return. It was once again a bridge connecting two of the largest trade routes in the commonwealth, rather than just an extreme fire hazard. Nick had been told that the courier used by the previous detective would meet him here to send word back to Bunker Hill. Nick might as well go there himself; it wasn’t as though there was much left he could do around here. Still it would be rude to keep the kid waiting. 

Nick leaned against a long broken lamp post at the foot of the bridge, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette. It seemed his contact was late; the sun was already hanging low, well past the city skyline. It was gonna get dark real fast this time of year, and with Nick’s eyes glowing like headlights in a back road avenue, he didn’t much appreciate being a walking target for raiders and super mutants. 

It didn’t take long for Nick’s sensors to come alert. Movement, just up ahead behind a car that had been swept to the side of the bridge. Nick’s hand twitched for his gun, but then he smiled and relaxed. Ah, so his contact wasn’t late then. 

“Hey you,” Nick called out, flicking the half-finished cigarette into a pothole puddle. “You wouldn’t happen to be Stockton’s messenger, would you?”

The figure behind the car was completely still. Poor kid must be holding his breath. Nick hoped this wasn’t about to escalate into something ugly. Thankfully, the kid must have decided that Nick wasn’t a threat, and a head popped up from behind the hood of the ancient machine. 

“Yeah,” He called back, eyeing Nick. “And you’re… Mr. Valentine?” His voice cracked on that last note. 

“That’s me,” Nick said with a chuckle. “I guess Stockton didn’t warn you about my ugly mug.”

“Nah, he didn't. Just said you was some detective from Diamond City,” The kid stood up to his full height, which wasn’t all that much. Nick guessed he was somewhere in his mid teens, probably one of the caravans’ kids. “Old bastard really needs t’ start tellin’ me shit like this. Thought I was about t’ be shot up by some institute bot.” 

Nick chuckled along. He was used to this; at least the kid seemed to have a good humor about the whole situation, rather than pulling a gun and demanding explanations. 

“So, did’ja find anythin’?” The courier asked in that gossipy way that only teenagers could manage. His expression was an open book, and he seemed eager to hear all about what Nick found. Something told Nick that courier was a perfect job for the kid, provided that the contents of his messages weren’t confidential. This could pose a problem for Nick; the last thing he needed was rumors making it back to Covenant. 

“I think I’m going to give the details to Stockton directly,” Nick admitted, much to the courier’s disappointment. “But I could use a little extra information on something, mind helping me out?” The kid nodded, eager to be a part of whatever was going on. It was charming, Nick had to admit. “How well did you know Dan?” 

“Honest Dan?” The courier said. “He was pretty popular around the ‘Hill. Kind of a dick, if you ask me, but he’s not, like, an asshole without reason or anythin’. He’s never given no one a hard time without good cause, you know?”

Nick nodded along. “Last time you heard from him, what did he have to say?” 

“He said that the guys up in Covenant had their heads pretty far up their ass, and that they were hidin’ somethin’ big.” The courier smiled, spurred on by second-hand excitement. “You wouldn’t believe it, but he said that there was some sorta cult bein’ built there. He thought they might be sacrificin’ travelers ‘r somethin. Maybe even secret cannibals, or conductin’ human experimentation.” 

Nick tuned out most of it, reading between the lines of gossip for the most important bits. So Dan had been convinced that Covenant was abducting people besides the ones they already knew about. Speculation aside, that was an interesting assumption to make. What had Dan seen that made him think that…?

“I see,” Nick said with a decisive nod. “Thanks for the tip.” Nick was about to make his way across the bridge to Bunker Hill when he was stopped by a reminder that went off in his head like an alarm. “Oh, and one more thing.” Nick said. “Did Dan have a habit of smoking cigars?” 

“Cigars?” The courier made a face like he was thinking. “I mean, he smoked a lot, but I don’ think I ever saw him with a cigar… it’s pretty common for the top caravan guys to light up with the good shit like that, but Honest Dan wasn’t really the type to take from his supply…”

Now  _ that _ was interesting. Nick’s neural net was practically sparking, connecting all kinds of dots. 

“Is there a specific brand that Bunker Hill caravans prefer?” Nick asked, keeping his excitement from his voice. This bridge didn’t need two men babbling like school girls on it. 

“Nah, pretty much every caravan carries their own,” The courier shrugged. “People got preferences.”

And there it was; the final nail in the coffin. Nick felt like he could sing. This case suddenly went from impossible to practically solved. If he could prove that the brand of cigar found in the town was the same as the one being carried by the caravan that came through, he would have the proof he needed to lay into the people of Covenant. Liars always had something to hide, and if they weren’t willing to admit that the caravan had been through their gates they might just crack after that truth was revealed. 

There was just one problem - Nick had left the cigar box at the crime scene. Damn. He hadn’t wanted to draw attention to it at the time, but now he was kicking himself for just leaving it behind. The box and the cigars had a pattern that was distinctive to him and his analytical mind, but the average human wouldn’t be able to identify it from description alone. Dammit, he needed that box. 

“Alright, kid, I think I have a message for Stockton after all,” Nick said, putting a hand on the young courier’s shoulder. “Tell him I might have just found a clue that proves Covenant’s involvement in the attack on the caravan. I’ll be by his office after dark with the details. Think you can run that to him for me?”

The courier nodded, giving Nick a wide smile and a quick salute. “Yessir!” He turned on his heels and dashed off before Nick could remind him to be safe. An excitable little guy, isn’t he…?

Nick couldn’t say much on that, he was about damn over the moon himself. This was why he always gravitated towards detective work - it was a quirk adopted from pre-programmed memories and personality, but dammit it was a powerful feeling even if it wasn’t wholly his. Of course, justice was always his main motivator, but there were a lot of ways to bring justice to people. Lawyers, judges, senators, patrolmen - they were all people who worked to keep the system fair (at least on paper) but it was only the detectives who got that rush of putting together the pieces to paint a bigger picture. Nick was glad he had whatever servo or subroutine made that feeling possible banging around in his mechanical skull. 

Nick broke out into a jog as soon as he was back on the road. He was going to have to be stealthy about this; he didn’t want any more trouble with the people of Covenant. The sky was glowing a dim purple, and Nick was able to see the faint reflection of his yellow eyes on rusted metal. He pulled the brim of his hat down as he drew closer to the town, changing directions so that he went through the woods and out of sight from the walls (and their turrets). 

It took him a moment to adjust his sense of direction; he was coming up to the scene of the murders from the opposite direction, and this was one of the last times he wanted to get lost. Nick slowed down to a snail's pace as he approached the town, carefully avoiding sticks and gravel as he walked. Night-vision, another perk he wished he had been built with. If people could put it on gun sights surely the Institute could have stuck something like that in his eyes. 

It didn’t take long at all for Nick to come up on the four mounds of freshly-turned dirt. The people of Covenant had been kind enough to mark the graves with four flat stones; it would be a touching gesture if the evidence didn’t point to them also being the ones who murdered the people buried there. 

Sure enough, with just a little poking around Nick’s skeletal fingers brushed against the softwood of the cigar box. He clutched the clue like it was a gift from Atom himself, and it might very well be. There were still two cigars left inside, both identical to the burned out remains he had seen inside the wall. There it was - the evidence he needed to move the case forward. 

Nick stood back up, looking back at the modest graves he stood behind. He tipped his hat to them. “Sorry about all this,” He muttered. “But I think I might be able to catch the sick bastards who did you in, maybe even rescue your friend.” 

Nick turned around, heading back the way he came, when his audio detected the faint sound of people talking. He paused, tuning in over the sound of his own internal workings to listen in. He couldn’t make out any words, but the sound was definitely human voices to the west, by the lake. There was a soft crackle, dirt moving out of the way as something was dragged along it.

Nick should leave. He got what he came for, and he needed to get back to Old Man Stockton to give his full report… but…

“He was a… … a shame-... … help me… … … Swanson would you…”

The voice wasn’t familiar, but the name at the end - Nick was sure he said ‘Swanson’. 

Evidence was all well and good, but if Nick could catch them in the act he might be able to get the location of the girl himself. It was a dumb move, he new that even as he was thinking it. He needed to regroup, find support, report back to Bunker Hill and let a team of armed guards take it from here - but if there was one constant between Nick the Synth and Nick the Human, it was that neither of them could leave well enough alone.

Exchanging the cigar box for his gun in his coat pocket, Nick crept towards the voices. Half way through his crawl towards the voices there was a resounding splash from somewhere across the lake. Nick picked up the pace, using the sound as cover to clear the forest and get back to the road. Two figures stood in the dim light on the other end of the water; it was impossible to distinguish features at this distance, but Nick felt confident at least one of the two men was Swanson. He watched as they spoke for a moment, words imperceptible over the ambiance of the Commonwealth dusk and his own internal fans. Then the two men turned around headed back towards a tunnel. Interesting…

In the last reflections of the sunset, Nick could just make out the sinking trace of something large disappearing under the waves. He grunted to himself. Water - his worst enemy, besides maybe mirelurks and beauty contests. He kept his body as well maintained as he could these days, but even industrial sealant couldn’t keep out all the moisture on the rare occasions Nick had to take a dip for a case. 

The sheets were fully submerged by the time Nick made it around the lake, but thankfully the guys had been generous enough to only throw their package out a few feet from shore. The sunlight was finally gone, leaving the water an inky black that hid all kinds of dangers. Nick had stepped over more than a few mirelurk nests on his way there - it was unlikely whatever had been thrown out would be there in the morning. 

Nick looked to each side while he shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his pants legs. The coast was clear, and he wanted to get a good look at exactly what - or more accurately  _ who _ \- those two goons had just tossed out. He waded out into the water, geiger counter ticking up in warning, until he was almost out to his knees. He pushed up his sleeve on his good hand and carefully reached down into the shadowy water. 

When he pulled up the body by the shirt, Nick was somewhat relieved to see a man’s face come up after it, rather than a girls. Still left the poor guy dead and cold, but at least the girl he was after was still safe. 

Nick examined the body. There were bruises and cuts all along his neck and cheeks, as well as burn marks on his upper arms, as though he had been stuck with a shock baton over and over. The face and clothes matched his description for Honest Dan to a T. Well, that would explain where he went. He must have been on to something, so whoever was behind all this had him iced. The body count was rising, and Nick felt a prickling feeling inside that if he didn’t get outta here fast, he was going to end up adding to that number. 

He put the body back where he had found it in water, muttering a soft apology. Nick didn’t want to leave any trace that this little visit ever happened. He shuffled out of the water a little more urgently than he would have liked. Every splash felt like an alarm that would summon the entire town of Covenant out to hunt him down like a pack of junkyard dogs. 

When he made it to shore, Nick made a stumbling b-line to where he had left his coat. He stuck his hand out to touch the tree trunk where he had hung it up, but his hand only met bark as he groped. It was dark, but Nick swore this was where he had left it. Could he have gotten turned around in the-

_ Error. Core Power Systems Overloaded. Rebooting. _

_ Rebooting. Damage to physical neural network nominal. No data loss occurred. Runtime RAM capacity reduced by 87.56% to prevent permanent damage _

what...?

Nick was on his back, and the ground was shaking. No… not it wasn’t the ground. It was him. Almost as soon as he realized that, he realized it again. And again. And again. It was only after five or six reboots that Nick became conscious enough to figure out something was  _ devastatingly _ wrong with him.

The convulsions died down, and power was slowly restored to the rest of Nick’s head. He couldn’t see anything. Someone had him from behind. Nick resisted, slamming his head back in hopes of staggering whoever it was who attacked him. His skull smacked against metal armor, stunning him more than bothering the other person. He tried to get his feet under him, tried to push back against the arms. Something cold hit the back of his neck and then-

_ Error. Core Power Systems Overloaded. Rebooting. _

_ Rebooting. Damage to physical neural network nominal. No data loss occurred. Continued exposure to high voltage equipment may lead to permanent- _

“Dammit, Avery! You got me with that thing too!!”

“That synth looked like it was about to break your damn nose- Hold it still, hold it still!”

Nick came back to himself faster this time, not even wasting a second before he tried to get back up and fight back against his attackers. This time he was face down, a knee on his back and a hand grinding his face into the dirt. He scrambled with his arms, trying to throw him off. His gun, His gun. It had been in his hand before he was knocked over. He couldn’t find it. 

“Hold still you fucking little freak!!” The voice above spit at him through gritted teeth. Nick grunted back, still too dazed to formulate a better plan than try desperately to get out from under the heavy bastard. “Avery don’t you dare try to shock it again! I’ve got this under control.”

“Like hell you do!” The other thug snapped back. “You know how strong those things can get.”

Nick felt the hand let off his head for just a moment, only for it to come back down and slam him back into the dirt. “I said don’t fucking move, didn’t I?” The man hissed. “When a human is giving you orders, synth, you’d better fuckin’ obey.”

“Sorry bud,” Nick spit out. “But I don’t ‘take orders’ from anyone, especially not second-rate thugs hiding in the shadows and attacking people.” Something struck him across the back of the skull, felt like a pistol. 

“Shut up, freak,” He hissed. “So it really can talk? I thought the doc had finally lost it.” Nick's vision was finally coming back to him. Maneuvering his head to the side, he was finally able to get a look at the man behind the hands holding him down. The guy looked the same as every other hired muscle in the Commonwealth; strong arms, scarred face - he was wearing armor and a hemet, same as the guy standing behind right him aiming a rifle at Nick’s head. Uniforms. They’re organized. 

“If you know what’s good for you, Synth, you’re gonna stay real still,” The man with the gun growled. Not wanting to be shocked and shot in the same day, Nick quit his (frankly useless) struggling under the other man’s weight. “Good synth,” He sneered, stepping forward. The barrel of the gun pressed against the torn, synthetic flesh of his cheek, daring Nick to make him pull the trigger. “Jesus, you’re an ugly thing.”

“You’d be the expert on that, wouldn’t you?” Nick returned. 

For a moment, it looks like the guard might just shoot him anyways. Nick didn't dare move; he could hear the soft buzz of his internal fans and the rush of coolant pumping through him. 

_ Don’t give them the satisfaction, _ Nick thought as he locked eyes with the man. Stupid. He had been stupid and careless. Wandering off on his own, not relaying any information to his client - rookie mistakes. This was twice now he’d gotten himself into trouble by not thinking; maybe he was getting old, more than just his parts gathering rust. Not that any of that matters if he’s about to take a bullet to the head. 

“Don’t shoot it,” The guard on his back growled, knocking the rifle away from Nick’s face. The worn metal of the barrel left a scratch along his cheek. “Chambers wants it undamaged.”

“Is she out of her fuckin' mind!?” The man with the gun snapped. “These Institute drones are dangerous - if she wants to dissect it she should at least put it down. They could be tracking it or something…”

Well that’s a pleasant conversation to be company to. Nick fought the urge to struggle his way out from under his captor. He had to stay calm, panicking wouldn’t help him now. “Ya know, me and the institute haven’t ever really seen eye to eye, if that’s what’s got you so paranoid.” Nick said. “I was just out on a stroll when I heard some commotion down by the lake, wanted to make sure no one was hurt. If you let me up I’ll head back and be outta your-”

The butt of the rifle came down on Nick’s temple. Warnings sounded in his circuits, listing off vulnerabilities and potential damages. Nick tuned it out through the pain, but the blow left him feeling foggy for longer than he would have liked given the situation. He faintly recalled hearing one of the guards telling him to shut his trap before they started doing some really unsavory things with that bayonet.

“If I ever find the bastard who built a synth with an attitude I’m gonna wring his goddamn neck,” The guard on top of him grumbled, shifting his weight on Nicks back so he could reach forward and snatch the synth's arms behind his back. “Find a way to turn this thing off - and this time do it  _ without  _ the goddamn pulse grenade.” 

Nick weighed his options - and quickly. His arm was being twisted painfully by the guard behind him, and the other was fast approaching with his rifle in one hand and a multi-tool in the other. If he didn’t think of something fast, these two toughs were going to try to perform a back alley lobotomy on him. His mind ran a mile a minute, coolant rushing through synthetic veins. 

_ Come on, think Nick… think…  _

Nick was pretty handy with a pistol, and when it came down to it he could throw a decent punch, but taking on two armed thugs while one has him pinned didn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing he’d walk away from. So all that left was talking some sense into them, which give him odds much higher than a fist fight.

“I don’t know if either of you gents noticed, but I’m not exactly your standard synth,” Nick said. His voice was more harsh than charming, but it was the best he could manage at the moment. “I’m not equipped with a little red button you can just press to- aghk!” the joints in his arm creaked as Nick was hauled up to his knees. Shit shit  _ shit.  _ “If- if ya want to bring me to this ‘doctor’ of yours in one piece, you’re going to have to lay off on the extremities.”

“What did I say about runnin yer mouth, freak,” The guard behind him growled. 

“Look fellas, I’m a reasonable synth-” He said.

"Hey, you know what? I think I've found an off button for this thing."

Off button? Nick had no idea what he was talking about - that was until he saw the guard return with a branch the size of a baseball bat and about twice as sturdy. Nick realized what he was going to do seconds before he did it. "Now hold on, wait just a damn-"

_Error. Blunt Force Trauma Detected On Cranial Structures. Attempting To Repair. Attempting To Repair._

_Shutting Down._


	4. Chapter 4

_ Rebooting… Rebooting… Systems online. Assessing damages.  _

Nick didn’t ever get headaches. Beneath the grafts of synthetic skin there wasn’t much sensation in Nick’s body. His metallic “bones” could sense hot and cold, and there were wires tangled all throughout his skeleton that gave him an update in what counted for his ‘subconscious’ when there was damage, but his sense of “touch” really did only go skin deep. 

That being said, if Nick  _ was _ someone who could get a headache, his head would be real sore right about now.

A quick rundown of diagnostics told him that there had been damage to his cranial matrix; the blow to his head had warped some of the metal and was putting pressure on the components there. The place where the rifle had struck his bio-polycarbonate skin stung where the living nerves were exposed to air, but thankfully there wasn’t any irreparable damage to report. The blow had just sent him into a hard reboot. 

And while Nick was pretty glad to know he wasn’t going to be stuck with irreparable brain damage, it honestly didn’t do much to sweeten his mood when his wrists, ankles, and neck had been strapped to a chair. 

“I’ve had ruder awakenings,” Nick muttered to himself, twisting his wrists to see if there was any give there. No dice. 

Nick’s coat and hat were nowhere in sight; he was left in his button-up and slacks. Looking around there wasn’t anything too interesting in the room. A desk, a second chair lacking straps, an old terminal with the screen busted out - it seemed like a post-nuclear approximation of an office. If he craned his head, Nick could see an open drawer on the other side of the desk crammed with holotapes and a recorder. 

“Can’t say I’m impressed with the hospitality,” Nick called out to the empty room. There was a door with a broken glass window to his side; call it paranoia but Nick had a feeling there were people nearby waiting for him to come to. Better to get whatever this was out of the way. “Gotta admit, you almost had me with that whole ‘innocent villager’ shtick. It’s too bad your townsfolk make for better murders than they do actors.”

“One cannot kill what was never alive.” The voice was feminine and stiff; Nick couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Hopefully that was just an echo in the room and not a problem with his auditory. There must be a speaker in the room somewhere with him. “Though I will admit, there have been a few unfortunate mistakes.”

“You mean like Dan? Amelia?” Nick replied. The accusation must have stuck because he got his answer before he even finished saying her name.

“Amelia Stockton is a synth,” Came the terse response. “Likely a replica of the original Stockton girl. As for Dan, he was trying to interfere with our work and had to be removed for the safety of everyone here.”

“And what work would that be?” Nick asked. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he held out hope that he might get a few more answers out of these psychopaths before they got bored of playing ‘twenty questions in chains’. 

“The Institute would have us believe that there is nothing we can do to stop them. They have terrorized the people of the Commonwealth for over a generation and destroyed countless lives in their wake. They are the embodiment of inhuman cruelty.”

“You won’t get any argument from me on that one,” Nick said with a half shrug. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re doing their work for them by attacking a caravan and kidnapping an innocent girl.”

“I won’t be lectured on morality by an agent of the Institute,” The voice hissed. The tone shifted, and suddenly the mysterious woman’s voice became so thick with self-satisfaction even a preacher from the Children of Atom would have told her to tone it down. “That’s right, synth, I’ve seen through your pathetic little charade. You may have the entire Commonwealth fooled, but I know who you really are.”

Nick laughed humorlessly. This wasn’t the first time this particular allegation was thrown his way, but every time his accuser seemed to have it in their head that they were the only one to have cracked the code on good ol’ Detective Valentine.

“Then enlighten me, doll,” Nick shot back. “Because if I’m anyone other than who I say I am it would be news to me.”

Of course, Nick didn’t get an elaboration. Instead what he heard was the sharp  _ click  _ of an intercom being shut off. For a moment Nick thought that might be the end of the conversation, for now, at least. He’d begun shifting his legs to search for some weak point in the restraints when he heard the distinctive tap of heeled shoes against concrete. 

Wonderful. Seems like Nick just earned himself a conjugal visit from his mentally unstable inquisitor. 

The figure that appeared behind the grime-covered window of the door held herself with all the air of a researcher from before the war. She brought back flashes to Nick, some from his borrowed memories and others from his own, neither with any context. People in lab coats guiding him to places, hooking up wires to his temples, sharp pains, cold gels, assurances that there would be no lasting damage. 

It was enough to make the old synth cringe. 

The woman who opened up the door wore a set of thick goggles on the crown of her head. The worn plastic was nestled into a mess of gray hair held back in a loose bun. The wrinkles on her cheeks and jaw helped define her face as stern, genteel, and grim. She looked like the kind of person who got along best when she was surrounded by work and avoided by people. 

“I’ve been waiting to face you for a long time, synth,” She said, and her voice matched the one from the intercom. 

“Wish I could say the feeling is mutual,” Nick suddenly felt impatient, and if he were honest, his nerves were catching up to him. The whole situation was headed downhill fast, and if something didn’t change he had a feeling he was going to join ol’ Dan at the bottom of the river soon. Focus. He reminded himself it wasn’t just his life on the line here. “Who are you? What the hell did you do with Amelia?”

“The synth girl is still here, if that’s what you want to know, in whatever state counts for ‘alive’ for you creatures,” The woman took her place behind the desk but didn’t sit in the chair. She leaned forward to loom over Nick like a deathclaw over a brahmin calf. “As for who I am, I am Doctor Roslyn Chambers.”

Nick took in the information. Somewhere in his registry, the name was familiar, but he couldn’t figure out how he knew her. Whoever she was, she had Amelia and seemed to be under the impression that the girl was a synth. If 'Dr. Chambers' was aligned with Covenant, which was more likely than not at this point, that didn’t bode well for the Stockton daughter. 

“Good to make your acquaintance,” Nick said with a put-on friendliness. “Nick Valentine, Detective from Diamond City. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

Dr. Chambers scowled. “I know who you are, synth. I know all about the games you’ve been playing with those too naive to see what you really are.”

“Lady, the only one playing games here is you,” Nick sneered. Chambers' eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “I don’t know what you think you know, but right now all I care about is the fact that you had almost half a dozen people murdered just to kidnap a young woman who you’ve gotten into your head is a- _Ghk_ ” 

Chambers's fingers had slipped into the pocket of her jacket and before Nick could react he was cut off by the swift motion of a knife being driven through the back of his left hand.  Nick hissed and gritted his teeth, fingers of his right hand tightening around the arms of the chair as his mind processed the new overwhelming stimulus of  _ damage _ and cut nerves. 

Chambers smiled, satisfied with the reaction. “Hm, I wondered if you could feel pain.” She withdrew her slender fingers from around the handle of the knife but left the blade still embedded in his palm. “At the very least, you seem to experience an approximation to it. Good. That will make this next part much easier.” 

Chambers paced around the desk leisurely, fingers brushing against the table and collecting dust as she walked. Nick followed her with his eyes until she disappeared behind him. He breathed in labored gasps - a borrowed reflex. The straps around his neck chafed against old scars, leaving him unable to turn enough to see what the demented broad was up to. 

“You can’t possibly understand what seeing you here has done to me,” Dr. Chambers said. Nick could hear the sounds of a drawer being opened and delicate fingers rummaging through. Metal tinks against metal, as though she were selecting a tool. Nick grit his teeth. “I do try to be objective in my work, as not to influence the results, but I couldn’t possibly allow an opportunity such as this to go to one of my colleagues.”

“Tryin’ to keep all the glory to yourself, huh?” Nick managed through strained tones. The agony was fading and Nick realized he couldn’t feel or move three of his fingers on what had been his “good” hand. 

“There are no accolades in the work we do here, synth,” Chambers replied. “I simply don’t trust important tasks to those who haven’t seen first hand how dangerous trusting the inorganic humanity of a synth can be.”

“You think they’d show mercy on your victims,” Nick clarified.

“If you want to be crass about it, yes,” She said. A hand appeared on Nick’s shoulder. He jumped, agitating the knife still stuck through his hand. Nick gritted his teeth against the surge of sensation. “Showing mercy to synths has only ever led to tragedy. Don’t you remember what happened in Diamond City all those years ago? What they now call the ‘Broken Mask’ incident?” 

“Didn’t live there at the time,” Nick said, hoping to keep the pain out of his voice. 

“No, you didn’t,” Dr. Chambers said. “And yet Henry Roberts let you in anyways, let you set up shop right in the middle of town. He put the safety of the entire city in jeopardy just because his supposed “daughter” vouched for you. As though he could trust her over his own damn sense.”

Something about the way she phrased that stirred Nick’s memory. Through the haze of pain and overabundance of internal warning about a “foreign object lodged between receptors 86C and 17A”, Nick felt the dots connecting.

“Chambers…” He muttered. “As in June and Harry Chambers?” 

“My parents,” Dr. Chambers’ voice fell an octave, fingers gripping tight against the worn fabric of Nick’s shirt. Her hand darted out and snatched the knife out from Nick’s hand; he barely had time to muffle a gasp before she drove the knife into his side, right where his ribs would be if he were human. Nick’s voice caught on a scream, and he had to press his lips together tight to keep from yelling. His internal fans clicked on high to keep him cool while his mechanical brain screamed with errors and stimuli. 

“Roslyn, _ I’m sorry _ ,” Nick said when he dared to open his mouth again. By then the scientist had moved away from Nick again and was back to preparing whatever hell she was about to put him through. “I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through, but Amelia is innocent-”

“No synth is innocent,” Chambers snapped. “Not. a. one.”

Broken Mask. The day some fifty years ago a synth named Carter went haywire and murdered four people at an outdoor bar in Diamond City. Among those killed was a husband and wife who left behind a teenage daughter - the Chambers family. Nick had heard the story, been to the little memorial set up in town back when they had it. He didn’t think he’d ever met Roslyn, but she probably paid extra attention to him when he moved to town. 

“My family wasn’t the only one destroyed by the Institute and their abominations,” she said from behind Nick. He felt her fingers reach into the exposed slot in his neck, clipping something to the metal frame there. “I’ve met so many peoples whose lives were torn apart by infiltrators, saboteurs, and drones who would leave destruction and death wherever they went. The Institute is an enemy to all humankind.” The pain in Nick’s side where the knife was embedded was hot and tender; when Chambers touched the handle he groaned, momentarily losing all discretion. “That is why you are going to tell me everything you know about them.”

Shit. Nick was up a creek without a paddle, and the creek was full of mirelurks and bloatflies. 

More wires were being attached to him while Nick tried not to panic. There was no talking sense into Chambers, she was way too far gone to be reasoned with. She had it in her head that Nick was an Institute infiltrator, and she was going to want answers he didn’t have. Never had he wished more that the Institute would have at least let him keep some of his memories before dropping him off in the wasteland. 

Even if talking wasn’t going to work, It wasn’t like he could make things worse than they already were.

“Listen, I really don’t think I know what you think I know,” Nick said. “Believe me, I wish I knew a little more about our mutual enemy. As far as I know, they don’t want anything to do with me.” It seemed like he’d worn out Chambers’ talkative streak because he didn’t even get a response, just more wire slid between exposed panels and clasps nipping at his ports. It wasn’t at all a pleasant feeling to have fingers inside him, but Nick was too distracted by the damage on his left side and the dreadful anticipation of what was about to happen. 

Finally, Chambers’ hands retreated, and Nick heard the soft rumbling of a makeshift battery starting up. He twisted without thinking, wincing at the tear in his hand and the cold numbness of his fingers. He was forced to take an inhumanly long breath to help cool down his processors as his conscious mind fought panic and his subconscious mind provided him with error reports and attempted fixes. 

Dr. Chambers came to sit at the desk in front of Nick, reaching into the open drawer to retrieve the recorder. A soft click and the tape began rolling. 

“Doctor Rosilyn Chambers, recording interrogation one, subject - _Detective_ Nick Valentine,” Her eyes came to meet his. He forced a glare that he hoped looked more defiant than pathetic. “Now then, let’s start at the beginning,” She said, leaning forward onto clasped hands. “Tell me what the Institute wants with the Commonwealth, Mister Valentine.”


	5. Chapter 5

Nick was barely conscious when he was dragged from the room hours later. Honestly, he thought they were going to leave him wired to that damn machine all night. He wasn’t at all surprised to find out Rosylin’s little setup here came complete with a creepy dungeon, the only shock to Nick was that they bothered moving him there.

He was stiff, joints rigid with the after-effects of fifteen hundred and some odd volts of electricity sent straight through his nervous system. He wasn’t entirely convinced they hadn’t welded some of the sockets in his limbs, though thankfully with a little time he found he was able to roll his shoulders again. 

If that’s what that damn setup did to him, Nick couldn’t even imagine what it did to a human or a gen-3 synth. What kind of horror show did he just make himself the star of?

As his body recovered from its third involuntary shutdown of the evening, Nick rolled himself onto his back to take stock. For starters, there wasn’t a part of his body that didn't either burn, ache, or throw up errors in his UI. There wasn’t any way for him to shut down his sense of touch (and believe you him, he’s tried), so he just had to tough it out and look through his diagnostic. 

Amazingly, none of what Roslyn did to him during the interrogation seemed permanent. It probably shouldn’t have been as remarkable as it was, seeing as he was hardly the first synth she’d worked on. Nick detected the distinct aroma of blood, rot, and excrement that tended to linger after someone died in a room. If he could, he would have shivered at the thought. 

His internal clock ticked along, counting off the seconds as Nick laid there and waited for his nervous system to stop sounding the alarm. The worst of the damage was in his hand. Nick raised his left fingers over his face, trying in vain to get the digits to move. His thumb and pinkie were fine, but the other three refused to follow orders. The connection was severed with that psychopath suck a knife through his goddamn hand.

Nick took a deep breath and readied himself. He tucked to his side and attempted to roll over onto his knees. The synthetic skin on his back protested, burned from the electricity that had been poured through them over the past several hours. If he were human, he probably would have thrown up by now. As it was he was having difficulty focusing his vision, and his limbs trembled.

_ Come on, you old bucket of bolts _ , Nick thought to himself. He managed to pull himself up and slump against the wall, cradling his hand in his lap. Looking at the damage there somehow made it hurt worse, as though seeing the damage clearly gave his mind just enough context to really drive home the hurt. 

Nick sucked in air and pushed his fingers into the slit of the skin. His arms tensed with the sting, but as soon as he was used to the intrusion he fished around for the wires in there. This would be a lot easier with a pair of pliers, and a localized dosage of Med-X that blessedly did work on the semi-organic parts of him, but lacking that, his skeletal fingers would get the job done. Without a sense of touch on that hand, Nick had to rely entirely on internal diagnostics to tell him where the wires were. 

Nick recalled a game before the war, one of those electronic board games that had been popular even when the original Nick had been a kid. You played as a surgeon trying to pick out pieces from a patient, and if you touched the sides of the board, it would buzz and your turn would end. Nick never thought there would be a real-world application for something like that, but here he was, maneuvering his index and middle fingers through an incision while desperately trying not to touch the sensitive edges of his torn flesh.

One wire was caught, twisted, reconnected, and Nick could flex his ring finger again. Middle and index came with similar difficulty and levels of pain. By the end of it Nick’s hand was as good as new, just with a new hole in the center and a few knots where the wires now bulged. Damage. More damage to his old, broken body. 

_ “Let go of me!” _

The shout echoed through the dungeon walls, loud and unexpected. It was enough to make Nick startle. He had been expecting to be left alone for the rest of the night; his internal systems had the time as a little past midnight. Despite the horrific screaming, shouting, and obscenities resounding off the walls from the new voice, Nick was relieved to hear it, because the voice was young, feminine, and occasionally shouting “When my father finds out about this, you’ll never see another caravan again!”

Nick kept himself in the shadows as the guards silently dragged the thrashing figure of Amelia Stockton to his cell. 

Amelia struggled with her full body, legs kicking off the floor while her arms were held by a pair of Dr. Chambers’ creepy goons. To her credit, it couldn’t be easy putting up that much of a fight in the state she was in. Filth clung to her short, frazzled hair and stained her skin two shades darker. She was clothed (thank God) but the thread-bare rags they had her in seemed to threaten to tear at any moment. The short-sleeves of her shirt revealed burns covering her wrists and forearms; the injuries winding together at focal points where Nick would bet they had hooked her up to the same shock system he’d been. Sympathy, pity, and relief all mingled in his processers as he watched her dragged closer. 

The guards shifted so that one of them was restraining the girl while the other opened the cell door. She was thrown inside with calculated roughness; while Amelia scrambled to get back to her feet the cage was shut and locked. She sat in a half-crouch, staring at the door while she caught her breath. When she seemed to think she was alone, Amelia put her head in her hands and sobbed in frustration. 

Nick debated his next move. She clearly hadn’t noticed him huddled up in the back of the cell as he was. Without his coat and hat, he looked far too similar to the mindless gen-2 synths that would set to kill on sight. Not to mention his missing components made him a bit scarier than the average robot.

The longer he waited, the worse the introduction would be.

“Hey there,” Nick said, voice low. Amelia startled but didn’t turn around just yet. “You’re Amelia Stockton, right?” 

“That depends on who wants to know,” She said, quickly swabbing her eyes. She looked around, eyes squinted to see in the low light of the cell. “Who’s there? Where are-” Nick’s eyes were luminescent and impossible to miss. It was easily his least favorite feature because in a dark room before a person could see anything else about him, they would see his eyes and immediately know  _ exactly _ what he is. 

“ _ Synth!!!”  _ Amelia screamed, backpedaling on her hands and feet until her back hit the bars with a rattling  _ crash _ . “ _ There’s a synth in here! They put me in with a- a-” _

“I know, doll,” Nick said. He moved forward just an inch so the torchlight of the dungeon could catch his face. For better or for worse, she needed to see who she was talking to before they went any further. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m a nice synth.”

Amelia blinked, chest heaving. “You… talk?” She said. Nick smiled.

“Only when there’s good company,” He said. “Nick Valentine. I’m a detective. Your father hired me to look for you.”

Amelia laughed, though she didn’t seem particularly amused. Nick was willing to bet she was trying to figure out if she'd lost all her marbles somewhere between the torture rooms and here. “You’re a synth…” She said, still smiling in disbelief. “He… my father hired a  _ synth  _ to come find me?” 

“Well there aren’t a lot of options when it comes to finding a detective these days,” Nick said, cutting the poor traumatized girl a lot more slack than he normally was inclined to. “If there were I’d probably be out of business fast.” 

“Yeah...” Amelia said. She pulled her legs back into a comfortable sitting position after she’d correctly assessed that Nick wasn’t a threat. “Well, if my father really did hire you to find me, he couldn’t have picked a worse guy.” Her arms rested on her knees and she stared off at nothing dejectedly. “These people kill synths. I don’t understand why, but they think I’m a synth. They want me to take this… this stupid fucking test and every time I answer they- they-” Amelia made a sound that Nick could only describe as a frustrated, high-pitched growl and pulled at her hair. “I keep telling them I’m not a synth, I’m not a synth,  _ I’m not a goddamn synth! _ ”

“Easy,” Nick said, holding up a hand. “Breathe, doll. I believe you.” Amelia looked back at him, wrathful tears dotting the corner of her eyes. “We’re going to get out of here. It doesn’t matter if you’re a synth or not, I’m not gonna let these sick bastards get away with this.”

“How?” Amelia frowned, seeming more irritated by the assurance than relieved. “You look as stuck as I am. Is there someone else working to get us out of here? Does anyone even know where you are?” When Nick didn’t reply Amelia glared, looking at the ground. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I don’t need to be placated like some child; I’m a grown woman. I know a hopeless situation when I see one.” 

Nick kept his mouth shut. Mostly because what she said was right. Nick didn’t have any idea how he was going to get them both out of this. Eventually, the courier would get back to Stockton and tell him that Nick went missing too. That would be enough to get the old man suspicious of Covenant, but Nick had made the mistake of not telling the kid everything he knew before he left. All Stockton would have to go on would be the vague clues he’d left, and without another detective, it could be weeks before they were found - and by then it could be too late. All Nick knew for sure is that the people here were going to have to take him apart piece by piece before he let these sadistic bigots evade justice. 

“I don’t know how right now,” Nick admitted after a few moments thought, “but we’re going to get out of this. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

Amelia snorted, a sad smile on her face as she wiped at the tears threatening to spill. “Great, just my luck… I get stuck with an actual synth and he’s a fucking optimist.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Nick said. “I know I’m not the most welcoming face to have as a roommate, but you don’t have to stay pressed up against the wall all night. You can take the bed - it’s not like I need it.” 

‘Bed’ was a generous word to describe the hundred-year-old mattress with more holes than fabric in it. Nick swore he’d seen a rat’s nest that looked cleaner than that thing, but Amelia looked exhausted. She stayed where she was, either too tired to move, still afraid of Nick, or disgusted by the state of the mattress. Possibly all three.

“You’re better than the last guy they had in here,” Amelia mumbled. “At least you aren’t screaming.” 

A pang of worry hit Nick. “Last guy?” Nick said. He already knew the answer, but he had to ask. “What happened to him?” 

“They killed him,” Amelia said emotionlessly. “They got all the data they needed, so they dragged him out back and shot him. I heard one of the guards say they found he’d been human all along too. Called him a ‘margin of error’ or something like that.”

Nick grimaced, anger causing him to lock his jaw. How many others had died down here? One was too many, but there were probably dozens. How could anyone justify what they were doing? Even if whatever their research down here came up with was somehow enough to stop the Institute in their tracks, was it really worth all this suffering?

“How long was he here?” Nick moved on. He needed to keep his mind focused. If he wanted any chance of getting out of this hell he needed a timeline.

“About three weeks, I think,” Amelia said after a moment of thought. 

Three weeks… so that’s how long these sick freaks needed to gather their data.’ Amelia had been missing for almost two weeks by now; that meant Nick had about seven to ten days to find a way out of here before she outlived her usefulness. There was no telling how long Nick would be here. It wasn’t as if he could actually give them any insight into Institute affairs, so it was likely longer, but they could just as easily get bored with interrogation and move right along to dissection. The thought was enough to send a chill down his spine. 

Eventually, Amelia nodded off, still not taking up Nick’s offer of the mattress but instead moving just a bit deeper into the cell where the lights wouldn’t keep her up. Nick watched over her, keeping guard for all the good it would do them. One week. Seven days. Maybe a little more, just as possible a little less. It wasn’t much time, but it was what he had to work with. 

Nick shut his eyes and began plotting their escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked the fic feel free to leave a kudos of a comment if you're feeling bold. 
> 
> I have a tumblr now, so if you're ever in the mood to chat fandom or just want to see what I'm up to (or some art I reblog) check me out!  
> https://detectiveidiotboy.tumblr.com/


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